


Sherlock on the Fringe

by poetrythroughprose



Category: Elementary (TV), Fringe, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetrythroughprose/pseuds/poetrythroughprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Fringe/Sherlock drabbles, in which the Fringe team must work with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. No one's too happy about it, least of all Olivia Dunham and Sherlock Holmes, the polar opposites. Includes a chapter featuring the parallel universe with Elementary's Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caring

Sherlock found Olivia standing in the bleak white hallway, staring out of the windows. She was not uncomfortable in a morgue - not uncomfortable, but sad. Her green eyes were pained as she watched the people walking by outside, going about their everyday business. Sherlock wondered if she looked like this every time she was confronted with another body.

“Caring is not an advantage, Agent.”

Olivia didn’t even blink at his words. Instead, she kept staring out of the windows as the consulting detective drew level with her and joined her at the windows. For a moment she pondered his words.

“I don’t think so,” the agent replied finally. “To you, caring is a weakness. To me, caring is an advantage.” Now she looked at him. “When I take on a case like this-” she nodded towards the doors, behind which the body was still lying on the slab “-I get into the headspace of the victims because I care. I see what they’ve seen, and it motivates me to do my job. It helps me save lives.”

Sherlock was staring at her now, his eyes slightly puzzled as he tried to understand her point of view. In a way, he could see what she meant. But it didn’t really make sense, not to him. There were other ways of solving a case. Getting emotional - and caring about the victims - didn’t help. So why bother?

Olivia knew he didn’t understand, but she didn’t try to force him to. He had his methods, and she had hers. They were opposites in this aspect, but as long as they could work together to save as many lives as they could, she was content to let him work in whatever way he wanted to.

Still - it was going to be a difficult case.


	2. Confrontation

"How could you say that to her?"

Peter was practically yelling at Sherlock - something he had promised Olivia he wouldn't do - but he didn't care at the moment. John looked up disapprovingly from his reading position in the armchair, but Peter ignored him as he stormed into the flat, where Sherlock was calmly playing his violin at the window. At Peter's interruption, the consulting detective only glanced up.

"Agent Dunham is hardly vulnerable to criticism," the Englishman replied, seemingly still engrossed in composing music. As he began to turn away, Peter crossed the room in a few strides until he was standing directly in front of Sherlock.

"Then you’ve got the wrong definition of 'criticism'," Peter snapped, "because telling my partner that she failed her job on all accounts? That sounds a lot like an insult to me."

"You said that?" John asked, now looking at Sherlock with a mix of surprise and disapproval.

Sherlock just shrugged, still playing.

"I told her the truth."

"You told her condescending bullshit."

Sherlock drew a few notes on the music sheet in front of him, then returned to playing.

"Agent Dunham's emotional investment in this case-"

"-is how she treats _every case_ ," Peter finished curtly. "This is how she solves her cases."

"Then she's an idiot," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

Peter made a motion as if to throw himself at the Brit, but John stood up abruptly, getting his attention.

"Look. We've just got differences in method, all right?" The doctor looked between the two of them: Peter standing tensely with hands in fists, and Sherlock blithely playing away on his violin without looking at either of them. "Each of our track records show that our different methods work. So let's just try to get along. Then we can go back to our own countries and cases."

After a long, taut moment in which Peter looked like he was debating whether or not to punch Sherlock, he finally stepped away. Unclenching his hands, he looked at John.

"Fine. But if Sherlock says one more thing against Olivia-"

"He won't," John assured him. They both knew he was probably lying. After one more glare at Sherlock, Peter strode towards the door. Sherlock, still facing the window and playing the violin, didn't look around as he commented, "Mr. Bishop, don't forget to control your own emotions."

Peter paused, then looked back at him.

"You're a real son of a bitch, Sherlock." Without another word, he left the room.


	3. Not from here

Olivia immediately began exploring the room, once in awhile squatting down to inspect different objects and details. Peter began questioning the landlord, falling easily into the persona of a friendly average guy. John stood by and listened, impressed. Here was where the Fringe division again different from his and Sherlock's operation; Peter was relatable, casual, and friendly when talking to the witnesses. As he conversed with the landlord, who looked to be only slightly older, both men relaxed considerably.

Sherlock, of course, was doing his usual analysis of the crime scene. His eyes swept about his surroundings, missing nothing. Abruptly he strode over to a desk near Agent Dunham, and began shifting boxes – much to the woman's annoyance. To her credit, she merely gave a small sigh and worked around the detective. She was obviously listening to the conversation between Peter and the landlord, because when she finally got to her feet and joined them, she did not repeat any of her partner's questions.

John observed Peter and Olivia as he listened, asking his own questions once in awhile. The more he observed the others, the more his respect for them grew.

As soon as they finished questioning the landlord and he left, Olivia and Peter stepped away from John to confer quietly. Peter's tone became surprised, then urgent, as Olivia's tone became more serious.

“Well?” John couldn't contain his curiosity. The way they left him out of their thought process reminded him oddly of Sherlock's own tendency to do the same thing. “What is it?”

Peter and Olivia glanced at each other before Olivia replied hesitantly, “We found a clue.”

“Go on.” The three of them looked at Sherlock, startled. The consulting detective had finished his inspection and had come to stand behind them without them noticing.

Olivia pointed at the empty glass bottle sitting on the desk. John looked at it bewilderedly, then back at Olivia. There was nothing especially unique about the bottle. Clearly, Sherlock felt the same way, because he raised his eyebrows.

“And how is that a clue?”

“It's not from here,” Peter replied. He and Olivia both looked wary and resigned.

“ 'From here'?” Sherlock repeated, his voice cool. “Mr Bishop, I realize that your division and your partner have trust issues, but-”

“It's not from this universe,” Olivia cut in, her voice curt.

John raised his eyebrows as Sherlock frowned. But while John's reaction was of disbelief and skepticism, Sherlock looked coolly interested.

“You're an expert in parallel universes, I assume.”

“Actually,” Olivia said, just as coolly, “we are.”

“I think a summary is probably in order,” Peter commented dryly, reclining on one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Olivia smiled, and John had a sinking feeling that this 'summary' was going to upend his already too-strange life. Agent Dunham sat in one of the other chairs and looked at Peter.

“How should we start?”

Peter grinned. He suddenly looked mischievous.

“I think I know how.” He leaned forward and folded his hands on the table, looking at the two Brits in anticipation. Sherlock and John had sat down and were looking back at the two Americans expectantly. “Most of us experience life as a linear progression, but in reality, we're just given an array of choices...”


	4. Heads up

It was one of those evenings when Olivia and Peter knew that they would be up all night looking through files. John had been kind enough to offer the space of his and Sherlock's apartment so that they could spread out on the kitchen table, though Sherlock was more than a little irritated when he had to clean up his latest experiment. So the two Americans had settled down, boxes stacked around them, and began to sift through folders and papers as John updated his blog. Sherlock had once again lapsed into silent thought, chin resting on steepled fingers as he stared into space. The only sound was the rustle of papers and quiet clattering of John's fingers on his keyboard.

When an hour had passed and they were nowhere close to being even halfway done, Peter resigned himself to the fact that they would be there for the long haul. Setting down a stack of papers, he looked over at John.

“Hey, John. Got any beer?”

The doctor didn't even look away from his laptop screen.

“Nope, just tea.”

Halfway up from his seat, Peter froze, his eyebrows raised in disbelief as he looked at John.

“What?”

John grinned, still typing away.

“Sorry, couldn't help it. Yeah, there should be some bottles somewhere in the fridge.”

Olivia glanced up from her file, grinning, as Peter strode over to the fridge and opened the door, shaking his head at British humor.

“You know, sometimes you guys– holy shit!”

John looked over and Olivia was halfway out of her seat before they saw what had caused Peter to swear: sitting on a shelf in the fridge, directly at Peter's eye level, was a disembodied head. Peter, who had taken a huge step back, looked back at the two roommates.

“Really? A corpse head in your fridge? I thought I was through with that kind of thing when I left Walter's lab.”

Sherlock, still lost in thought, didn't reply or even seem to notice Peter's consternation. John, however, just shrugged.

“One of Sherlock's studies.” He paused, then frowned. “Your father kept heads in your fridge?”

Peter snagged two bottles of beer and shut the fridge door. As he sat down again at the table, setting one in front of his partner, Olivia replied, “You should see what Walter keeps in his lab.” She nodded her thanks to Peter, then added, “Peter almost ate an ear in an omelet once.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“A human ear?”

Peter nodded, popping off the two bottle caps with an opener. “Apparently, omelets are perfect incubators for ears.”


	5. Differences and similarities

Peter wasn’t exactly convinced.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked Olivia uneasily as their taxi pulled up in front of the brownstone apartment. “I mean, he lives in New York. Don’t you think that hints at some non-so-subtle differences from our universe’s version?”

Olivia peered out of the window at the apartment, then glanced back at Peter.

“How different can he be?” she asked skeptically. “Sherlock  _did_  suggest that we ask for help from his alternate. If he can’t help us, no one can.”

After paying the taxi driver, she and Peter stepped onto the sidewalk and stared up at the building. For all of Olivia’s assertion, she still felt apprehensive. It was true, living in New York seemed highly unorthodox for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, and the fact that the alternate universe’s electronic address book listed the apartment as belonging to ‘Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson’ didn’t exactly assuage her doubt. You would’ve thought the address book would spell John Watson’s name right.

But there was nothing for it. Olivia and Peter climbed the concrete steps up to the front door, rang the doorbell, and waited. After ten seconds, when no one answered the door, Olivia rang the doorbell a second time. This time, there was the muffled sound of a woman with an American accent yelling, “Sherlock, can you get the door?”

The yell was followed by an answering man’s voice shouting with a British accent, “Watson, I’m in the middle of something very important. Also, as part of our deal and your apprenticeship, you should be responsible for answering the door!”

Olivia and Peter glanced at each other. Was there a third person, besides Holmes and Watson, living in the apartment? A moment later, their unspoken question was answered as the door swung open to reveal an Asian woman wearing pajamas and looking disgruntled. As soon as she saw Olivia - who was wearing a business suit and looked official - she looked surprised.

“I’m Olivia Dunham,” Olivia said quickly, “and this is Peter Bishop. We’re looking for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.”

The woman at the door nodded, glancing at Peter, who was staring at her with a furrowed brow.

“Sherlock’s here,” she replied, her accent giving her away as the American woman who had yelled earlier. “Are you here with a case for him?”

Olivia nodded.

“Do you mind if we come in?”

The woman opened the door wider and stepped aside to let them through.

“Of course.” As Olivia and Peter entered, looking around, she added, “I’m Joan Watson, consulting detective. I’m Sherlock’s partner.”

At this, Olivia and Peter turned to stare at her.

“You’re… _Joan_  Watson?” Peter repeated curiously. When the woman nodded, raising her eyebrows at their surprise, Peter said, “You don’t happen to have a relative named John, do you?”

The woman - Joan - shook her head.

“Not that I know of,” she replied, amused. “Listen, do you know Sherlock from another case or something? Or heard about him from somewhere else?”

Peter and Olivia exchanged a look.

“Somebody recommended him to us,” Olivia said finally. “Somebody who knew him well.”

“Not well enough, apparently,” Peter remarked. At the sound of footsteps behind them, they turned to see a man with short brown hair and stubble, wearing jeans paired with a vest over a t-shirt.

“Watson!” The man declared loudly in a British accent, holding up a few books, “I’ve found a few more readings to add to your education.”

Peter and Olivia stared at the man for a second before Olivia said incredulously, “Sherlock Holmes?”

The man turned his attention to the two of them.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

Olivia and Peter exchanged another look, before Olivia said, “I’m Olivia Dunham, and this is Peter Bishop. We came here for help on a case, but now…” she glanced at Peter, “This isn’t what we expected.”

Sherlock Holmes - who was decidedly not like the Sherlock Holmes that they knew, just as Joan Watson was not like the John Watson they knew - raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Try me.”

Peter went straight for the truth.

“We’re from an alternate universe, where your alternate selves - Sherlock Holmes and John Watson - suggested that we come to you if we needed help on a case in your universe.”

“I don’t think they considered the possibility that their alternates would be so different from them,” Olivia remarked, looking between Sherlock and Joan, who looked extremely skeptical. Yet the alternate Sherlock didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“Let me guess,” he said, “my alternate self is an arrogant know-it-all who considered himself above all other options of help.”

“Sounds pretty close to this Sherlock,” Joan commented under her breath.

Olivia gave a wry smile.

“You’re about right,” she told Sherlock.

“And I assume my alternate self reasoned that I would also be the most superior aid in your case,” Sherlock continued. When Peter and Olivia nodded, he added, “He was correct.”

At that point, Peter began to think that maybe the two versions weren’t so different after all.


	6. Holding back

Olivia and Sherlock were just approaching a set of steel stairs leading to the second floor of the warehouse when Sherlock halted, his head turning slightly. Realizing that the detective had heard something and knowing better than to ask what he'd heard, Olivia turned to look at him. Sherlock's eyes swept the dark room as the beams from their flashlights bounced off the walls, illuminating the shadows. Olivia didn't know what he'd heard, but she trusted his instincts. Her own senses were tingling.

A black shape suddenly hurtled from the shadows and knocked Sherlock to the ground. Olivia was turning to confront it when something else rammed into her torso. She fell against the ground, half-winded, and instinctively kicked out. Whoever - whatever - was on her grunted and reeled backwards as her foot made contact, and then Olivia was pulling out her gun and firing three shots into the black mass on top of her. It instantly went limp and fell to the side, half-on top of her. The agent scrambled to her feet and grabbed her flashlight where she'd dropped it on the ground. Swinging it around, she saw that her attacker had been a man in his mid-30's, Caucasian, with short dark brown hair and nondescript clothes. He lay on the ground, dead.

Sherlock.

Olivia was whirling around to help the detective when a shot rang out, echoing in the vast space and landing a foot away from her. As soon as she heard the sound, the woman turned and fired in the direction the bullet had come from. She heard a yell of pain, then the sound of running footsteps. Someone standing on the second level, near the stairs, was on the move. She'd hit him, but not fatally. As shots rang out again, aimed towards her, Olivia ran for cover. Ducking behind a pillar, she glanced around.

Sherlock was in the midst of wrestling with another attacker, who looked similar to Olivia's assailant. The attacker had pinned Sherlock to the ground, but the detective was putting up a fight. As the Englishman twisted to swing his right fist as his assailant's jaw, the gleam from Olivia's flashlight caught on something bright in the inside of Sherlock's jacket. It shone for a moment in the light, and Olivia's heart stopped as she realized what it was.

He had the antidote.

Walter must have finished it while Olivia, Peter, and John were away, and Sherlock must have taken it with him for whatever reason. Olivia knew Walter had been making only a small amount because of the high concentration, enough to fit into a small glass vial. If they lost the one Sherlock had with him, it would take too long for Walter to make more. Lives would be lost.

The horrifying idea was registering in Olivia's mind when Sherlock's attacker slammed his fist into the detective's face, knocking his head backwards onto the cement ground and stunning him momentarily. The man wasted no time in searching Sherlock's pockets. He was there for the antidote. And - judging by the way the person on the second floor was now covering him by firing some warning shots in Olivia's direction - all three of the attackers were there for the antidote. Sherlock looked like he was slowly refocusing again, but his attacker had already found the glass vial. The man picked himself up and off of Sherlock, then pulled out a gun and aimed it at the still-dazed detective.

Olivia threw all caution to the winds.

"HEY!"

With a yell, the agent threw herself from the safety of the pillars. With her left hand, she aimed the beam of her flashlight towards Sherlock's attacker. With her right hand, she sent three quick shots in the direction of the gunman on the second floor as her eyes picked him out of the darkness. Judging from the sound of a body falling, she'd hit her mark. At her yell, the man attacking Sherlock looked over, and was momentarily blinded by the light. He took a staggering step backwards, then recovered enough to see Olivia's gun aimed at him.

Olivia had expected him to give up. She had expected to him to surrender, or try escaping, or even fighting back. She did not expect him to throw the vial into the air. The man obviously hadn't realized that his partner on the second floor was dead.

Glass vial clutched in his hand, the man drew back his arm to throw it up to the second floor. Clearly, he hoped that if he couldn't escape with the antidote, his friend could. At that moment, Sherlock - who had fully regained focus - hooked one of his long legs around the attacker's, and yanked him off balance. Unfortunately, the man was already in the process of throwing the vial.

"NO!"

Dimly, Olivia knew that Sherlock had dragged his assailant to the ground and subdued him, but her attention was focused on the antidote. The glass vial flew up into the air haphazardly, its surface once again shining - almost mockingly - in the beam from Olivia's flashlight. Then it began to fall. If it hit the cement ground, it would surely shatter.

Olivia sprinted towards it, gun and flashlight forgotten, and threw herself forwards. Everything around her dimmed as her eyes locked on the glass vial, focusing on the trajectory of the fall. She could make it. She had to. Time seemed to slow down, as did the glass vial's descent. Olivia hit the unforgiving ground, hand outstretched, already imagining the sound of breaking glass.

But it didn't come. As the detective watched in disbelief, the antidote slowly descended, as if on a cushion of air, and came to rest on the ground just a few inches beyond Olivia's hand. It landed on the cement with a quiet clink - fully intact.

There was the sound of footsteps, and Sherlock appeared next to Olivia, who slowly got to her feet and picked up the vial. As she stared at it in her hand, thoughts flying through her mind, the detective raised his eyebrows.

"Agent Dunham, you've been holding back a key piece of information. The Cortexiphan trials in Wooster, Ohio weren't the only ones, were they?"


End file.
